


Choking on Bonds of Fate

by stillskies



Category: Yami No Matsuei
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 03:56:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillskies/pseuds/stillskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They do not start out as friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choking on Bonds of Fate

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 10-17-2006

They had not started out as friends. On the contrary, the first time that they met, Oriya had completely ignored the silver-haired boy and went on to greet Muraki-sama. He had not known that the doctor had a son, so he assumed that the child was a mere attendant to the doctor, or perhaps a patient. Regardless, the child was inconsequential to him and therefore did not deserve his acknowledgement.

His father had disciplined him later that night for his rudeness, and Oriya attended his classes the next morning with fresh bruises hidden underneath his immaculate uniform.

The silver-haired child only accompanied Muraki-sama one other time to Kokakuro and Oriya had been careful not to make the same mistake twice. He greeted the doctor, as he was expected to do, and then made to greet the child.

“Welcome to our home, Muraki-kun,” he recited dutifully. “I apologize for my rude behavior during your last visit.”

The child nodded in response and stared at him curiously. Oriya noticed that his eyes were as pale as his hair. He silently wondered how eyes the color of snow could be filled with such warmth.

He noticed that the child had not moved or made any sound the entire time they had been standing there. He had been about to engage the other boy in conversation when his father beckoned him over.

“Yes, Father?” he asked, bowing politely.

“See to it that Kazutaka-kun is entertained properly,” Mibu ordered before turning his back to his son.

“Yes, Father,” Oriya replied dutifully, fully aware that his father was no longer paying attention to him. He turned around and returned to where Muraki Kazutaka stood. Oriya noted that he still had not moved from his spot.

“Muraki-kun, if you would follow me, I will see to it that you are properly entertained,” he said, motioning with his hand for Muraki to follow.

He led the child into the garden and politely offered him something to drink as he pulled out a chair for the silver-haired child. 

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Muraki replied softly, taking the seat Oriya offered. 

He smiled. The boy’s voice was soft and had a lilting musical quality to it that reminded him of the flute his mother had made him practice. He was suddenly struck with the thought that if the child’s voice were a song, it would be a haunting melody with a lingering sadness.

“I’ll get us some tea, then,” he answered after a moment. He bowed to his guest before taking his leave.

He returned a few moments later to find Muraki standing near the small pond, peering curiously into the still water. He motioned for the maid to place saucers, cups, and spoons on the table. He returned to the house to get the teapot.

When he came back, Muraki was still staring into the water. He placed the teapot in the center of the table and then went to retrieve his guest.

“Muraki-kun,” he spoke softly, so as not to frighten the child. “The tea is ready. I’ll pour you some, if you’d like.”

The boy gave no indication that he heard him and continued to stare into the pond.

“Muraki-kun?” he inquired quietly.

“There aren’t any fish swimming in the pond,” Muraki responded, and Oriya could hear a hint of curiosity in his voice.

“Father doesn’t want fish disrupting the peacefulness of the garden,” he replied carefully. “He believes that they would be noisy and disrupt the customers.”

Muraki nodded before turning away and walking back to the table, looking back at the empty pond before taking his seat.

Oriya glanced at the still water of the pond, briefly imagining colorful fish swimming in the shallow depths and found that he would like that very much. Perhaps, he thought, I will put fish in the pond when I take over.

He returned to the table to find Muraki sitting and staring at him. His cheeks flushed at the realization that he had kept his guest waiting, and he quickly began to pour the tea into the two cups.

“Is the tea okay, Muraki-kun?” he inquiried politely after his guest had taken a few tentative sips.

“Yes, thank you,” he replied hesitantly.

“It was nothing,” he answered dismissively. 

The two sat and drank their tea quietly. The afternoon was warm with only the faintest of breezes threading through the wind chimes that hung from the rafters, creating a tinkling melody.

“Do you play an instrument, Mibu-kun?” Muraki questioned.

Oriya nodded. “I play the flute.”

A small smile tugged on the corners of his guest’s mouth, and Oriya found himself fascinated by it. “I could play for you, if you’d like,” he offered, smiling shyly.

“I believe I would enjoy that, Mibu-kun,” the other boy answered.

Oriya nodded and set off to retrieve his instrument, assuring the silver-haired boy he would only be gone a moment. He quickly located his instrument next to his katana in one of the unused rooms he used for practice. He grabbed the flute and a random sheet of music and returned to the garden.

“I must apologize in advance,” he warned after he had assembled the instrument. “I’m afraid that I’m not that good.”

Muraki merely indicated for him to begin, and Oriya raised the flute to his lips. He quickly ran through some scales, hands gliding over the keys effortlessly. After he felt confident that he had warmed up adequately, he glanced at the sheet music that rested on the table, and began.

The notes drifted out of the flute hesitantly at first, but quickly became steady after a few measures. He closed his eyes and let the notes drift through him as he played. He knew this song inside and out; it had been his mother’s favorite.

He drew in a quick breath before the tempo changed and his hands began to fly across the keys in a desperate attempt to keep up with the rhythm. He opened his eyes and watched Muraki, who seemed enraptured by the notes that had quickly filled the quiet garden.

He ended the piece and bowed to Muraki. “I hope it was to your liking,” he said.

“You are very good,” Muraki commented. “I don’t believe I’ve heard that piece played quite like that.”

Oriya raised an eyebrow. “You’ve heard this piece before?” he questioned.

Muraki nodded. “Mother plays it on the piano.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard Vivaldi’s Concerto RV105 on the piano,” he replied.

“Mother plays it very well, but the resonance of the notes are different,” Muraki reflected. “The song doesn’t sound so sad when Mother plays it.”

Oriya smiled. “Maybe your mother has no reason to be sad when she plays that song,” he countered.

Muraki nodded silently and sipped his tea.

He disassembled his instrument and placed it carefully back in its case before reseating himself and finishing his tea, which had gone cold.

They sat the remainder of the afternoon in the garden in silence; the only sound that wove around them was the soft melody of the wind chimes dancing on the wind.

+++

Oriya had forgotten about the silver-haired child a few years after Muraki’s last visit. Muraki-sama had abruptly quit frequenting Kokakuro, and with his absence, the memory of silver eyes vanished as well.

The next time he saw Muraki, he was in an isolated courtyard at Shion University, concentrating on getting each position and move correct with his katana. All of his focus was on the katana in his hands, the movement of his body, the whistle of the blade seamlessly cutting through the air, that he didn’t notice that he was no longer alone.

It wasn’t until he heard polite applause that he stopped and looked around, quickly sheathing the blade. His eyes fell upon a tall man who looked to be about the same age at Oriya. The young man wore a pair of fitted blue jeans and a pale grey turtleneck. His silver hair swept over his left eye, obscuring it from sight.

Oriya bowed stiffly, courtesy and manners overriding his curiosity. “Thank you,” he murmured.

He heard a deep chuckle and the sound washed over him. There was a rough quality to it that made it melodious, but he couldn’t quite place what it was. He watched as the man approached him, mind racing to place the sound on a scale.

“You truly are quite the musician, Mibu-kun,” came the greeting from the unknown man.

“I beg your pardon?” Oriya replied. “Do I know you?”

His companion ignored the question. “You truly have a talent for music. The way you made the katana sing brought chills down my spine. Truly magnificent.” The man paused and glanced at Oriya, and he could see that the man’s eyes were silver. “Perhaps you will play for me again?”

Oriya nodded and watched the man take a seat on a bench. He unsheathed the katana, and began to go through the forms again, acutely aware of the eyes on him, watching him in motion.

He pushed the sensation to the side, concentrating on angling his hand correctly, or that his footwork was precise. He managed to forget the man watching him, instead focusing completely on the comforting motions.

When he finished the last stance, he straightened and sheathed the katana. He placed it carefully on the low wall enclosing the courtyard next to his bag, and strode over to where the silver-haired man sat.

“What are you doing here, Muraki-kun?” he asked.

“I see you remembered my name, Mibu-kun,” Muraki replied easily. “I attend Shion University.”

Oriya raised an eyebrow. “What are you majoring in?”

Muraki smiled before answering. “Why, medicine, of course. What else is there for a member of the Muraki family to pursue?” He paused for a moment, before asking, “What are you majoring in? I assumed that you were going to become the proprietor of Kokakuro.”

He rolled his eyes and leaned his back against the backing of the bench. “Business,” he replied. 

“Ah,” Muraki acknowledged. “Of course. How silly of me.”

There was lull in conversation after that while they sat together, the warm spring sunshine bearing down on their skin. Oriya raised a hand and ran it through his hair, his upper arm brushing against Muraki’s shoulder. He felt his companion shift slightly, moving closer. 

“You grew out your hair,” Muraki commented.

Oriya smiled. “Yeah. I got lazy and kept forgetting to get it cut. Father, of course, does not approve.” He rolled his eyes to let his companion know how much he cared about that.

“It suits you,” his companion replied.

He made a noncommittal noise in response and looked at his watch. “I have a class in fifteen minutes, Muraki-kun,” he told his companion. “If you’d excuse me.” He stood and bowed.

Muraki stood as well, bowing back. “If you wouldn’t mind, Mibu-kun,” he started, “perhaps we could get together occasionally. Maybe go to dinner or out for a drink, if you’d prefer.”

Oriya ran a hand through his hair again, gathering it to tie it back. “Of course. I can write down my number and dorm room for you, and you can let me know when’s a good time for you.” He walked over to his bag and pulled out a composition notebook and pen, hurriedly scribbling the information on it. “Call whenever,” he informed the other man. “I don’t have a roommate, so it’s never too late to call.”

The silver-haired man nodded, and Oriya collected his belongings. He took his leave without a backwards glance at the other man in the courtyard.

+++

When he returned to his dorm room after his last class, his answering machine was blinking. He sighed and placed his bag on the floor next to his desk before returning the katana to its holder in the corner nearest the window. After everything was in its place, he unbound his hair and grabbed a towel and various other toiletries.

The messages would be there when he came back from a shower, but the communal bathroom wouldn’t be empty for long.

He entered the bathroom and stripped, neatly folding his clothes and placing them on the bench next to his towel. There wasn’t anyone else in there; the majority of his dorm had classes until ten. He gathered his shampoo, conditioner, and soap, before entering the last stall, furthest from the door.

He placed the toiletries on the little alcove in the stall and turned the faucet to the left, stopping when warm water sprayed from the showerhead. He stood underneath the warm spray, allowing the water to ease the tension in his body.

Oriya leaned back into the spray, letting the water saturate his hair before he grabbed the shampoo bottle. He poured some in his hand and lathered his hair. He grabbed his bar of soap next, working the bar into a white lather before running it over his neck, arms, and chest.

Oriya ran a hand over his length, allowing the soap to trail over the semi-erect flesh. His callused palm dragged over the silky length inciting a shiver to crawl up his spine. He allowed the soap to fall from his hand with a dull splash and trailed it up his chest, mimicking the motions with his other hand on his erection.

Silver clouded his sight, and he closed his eyes, focusing instead on the wintry eyes in his mind. He ran a hand through his hair, but it wasn’t his hair he was grasping. He pictured his fingers running through warm, silky argent, and his mouth parted on a sigh. 

His hand moved from his hair back down his chest, the water making it glide. Oriya became preoccupied with the thought of Muraki, warm and willing, sprawled on his bed, and suddenly his mind became filled with thoughts of soft pale flesh. He pictured his hand running down that smooth chest, and Oriya moaned low in his throat.

The pads of his fingers ran over the head of his length, and Oriya bucked his hips, allowing his hand to loosely grasp himself. Heat began to pool low in his stomach and blood pounded in his ears. His eyelids fluttered as he imagined wintry eyes darkened with passion and tousled hair the color of moonlight. 

Shampoo ran in rivulets down his face, falling into his eyes, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was the man in his mind, the warmth spreading through his body that had nothing to do with the water, and the wet sound of his hand hitting the base of his cock. 

He threw his head back, feeling the water cascading over his face, running down his chest, and suddenly it was Muraki’s tongue trailing in the water’s wake. He bit his lip and thrust into his hand. He could feel the other man’s hair brush against his nipples, and it was too much. Light exploded behind his eyelids, overpowering the silver, and warmth flooded his hand. He grasped for the cold eyes in his mind, hanging onto the sensations as his orgasm trembled through his body.

Oriya slumped against the wall, exhaustion robbing him of his strength. His hair was plastered to his cheeks, and the burning in his eyes from the shampoo reminded him that he needed to rinse it out. Using the wall to support himself, he quickly rinsed the shampoo from his hair and the soap from his body.

He picked up the bottle of conditioner and quickly applied it to his hair. He retrieved the soap from the shower floor and lazily soaped his legs. He rinsed the conditioner from his hair. 

With a quick turn, the water turned off. Oriya gathered his things and exited the stall. He retrieved his towel and wrapped it around his waist before gathering his clothes and returning to his room.

He quickly grabbed a pair of sleep pants from the bag of clean laundry sitting near his bed and tugged them on. 

Just as he had climbed into bed, he remembered the messages that were waiting for him on his machine. After a quick debate, he grudgingly got out of bed and made his way to the desk where the answering machine sat, red numbers blinking cheerfully.

He jabbed the play button, and suddenly the quiet room was filled the commanding voice of his father.

“Oriya, you are expected to return home this weekend.” 

The automated voice monotonously began to relay the date and time of the recording, but Oriya pressed the delete button before it could finish. The second message began, and it took a minute for him to place the voice. He realized it was Muraki a second before the caller identified himself.

“Ah, Mibu-kun. This is Muraki. I was wondering if you had plans this Saturday. If you do not, I happen to have an extra ticket to a Noh play. Perhaps you would like to accompany me? We can get dinner afterwards, if you’d like. We can discuss it tomorrow afternoon if you don’t mind me stopping by after class.”

Oriya smiled. His father could go to hell. It seemed he had a date with a rather attractive man Saturday night. With that thought in mind, he climbed back into bed and dreamt of silk, silver, and warmth.


End file.
